


dr banner! how can i - I DON'T WORK AT STARBUCKS ANYMORE

by transpeterparker (partlycharlie)



Series: pride month 2k19 [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bathrooms, Gen, Interns & Internships, Laboratories, Panic Attacks, Showers, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Peter Parker, Trans Peter Parker, but like lowkey? it's a weird thing, gc2b owns my ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/pseuds/transpeterparker
Summary: DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER, LITERAL AVENGER (oh my god!!!!!!) doesn’t seem to notice (or maybe purposely ignores) Peter’s shallow breathing, instead just looking him up and down. “You remind me of Tony, actually.”Peter looks himself up and down. Old knock-off Converse (there’s a hold in the side of one and a rip in the other, but he’s trying not to think about that), older jeans (same thing), Aunt May’s old button down (he’d prefer Uncle Ben’s, but he’ll take what he can get), his binder (he’s pretty sure Doctor Bruce Banner (!!!!!!!!! HE’S STILL NOT OVER IT!!!!) can’t see that one, and thank shit for that - it’s seen better days), goggles pushed into frizzy hair (having curly hair is NOT glamorous), wide eyes and a frantic smile.What the fuck is he talking about?





	dr banner! how can i - I DON'T WORK AT STARBUCKS ANYMORE

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote most of this yesterday but it was a long ass day and i wasn't done with it so i finished it today and here we are!
> 
> hope yall enjoy <3

“Hey, hey, hey, hey - you, there, can’t look up, come here please.”

Peter hears footsteps coming his way and stretches out his hand. “I need the, uh… the grabby thing. Tongs. Scissor. Things.”

“Tweezers?” the voice asks, cool and calm and slightly amused, and Peter freezes.

That’s not - that’s not Jeff, or Thanh, or any of the other interns, is what that voice sounds like. 

“Um.”

“Just take it, Mr. Parker.”

He takes it. 

He uses it.

(You wouldn’t understand how he uses it anyway; there’s no use explaining.)

He looks up and immediately rips over his stool, almost falling onto DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER (!!!!!!!!), OWNER OF LIKE. SEVEN PHDS????? MASTER OF GENETICS. OVERALL G E N I U S (!!!!!!!).

(Peter’s kind of a fan.

If you couldn’t tell.)

“Oh my god it’s you hello Dr. Banner oh my god I’m a huge fan of your work on radiation and the LRRK2 gene mutations and also your books on med - your meditation books are really helpful for when I’m having a rough go of it, you know, and also I want to thank the other guy for being a hero even though he’s probably really angry all the time because, like other than the obvious reason, the only time he comes out is when the AVENGERS - ohmygodyou’reanavengerholy BEJEEZUS -” he takes a breath - “need him to and people are always shooting at him but - actually. Um. Nevermind. Sorry I just, uh, talked. A lot. I, uh.” Wow, how had he been talking for so long without taking a breath? Peter sure as hell needs some of that air back right about now. “I talk a lot when -”

“You’re nervous?” DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER, RESIDENT GENIUS (!!!!!!) AND ALSO HULK says, finishing Peter’s sentence. He’s got a little smile on his face, Peter thinks.

(He’s too busy trying to breathe correctly to really take notice, honestly.)

DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER, LITERAL AVENGER (oh my god!!!!!!) doesn’t seem to notice (or maybe purposely ignores) Peter’s shallow breathing, instead just looking him up and down. “You remind me of Tony, actually.”

Peter looks himself up and down. Old knock-off Converse (there’s a hold in the side of one and a rip in the other, but he’s trying not to think about that), older jeans (same thing), Aunt May’s old button down (he’d prefer Uncle Ben’s, but he’ll take what he can get), his binder (he’s pretty sure Doctor Bruce Banner (!!!!!!!!! HE’S STILL NOT OVER IT!!!!) can’t see that one, and thank shit for that - it’s seen better days), goggles pushed into frizzy hair (having curly hair is NOT glamorous), wide eyes and a frantic smile.

What the  _ fuck  _ is he talking about?

“I do?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Same-ish hair, same eyes, same nervous ticks - you’re picking at your fingers, by the way, bad habit - same…” DOCTOR BRUCE BANNER (AHHH. AAAAH. Oh god. This is so much.) waves his hand vaguely. “Same… vibe, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Huh.”

He checks his watch. “You also, according to the time, have the tendency to lose track of time in the name of science.”

Peter frowns, idly rubbing at his chest. “Really?”

“Mhm.” 

“What time is it?”  _ Geez, what the hell is wrong with my chest? _

In retrospect, he probably should’ve seen this one coming.

“It’s 1 AM.”

His hand freezes.

Eighteen hours? He’s been wearing this fucking binder for eighteen HOURS? No wonder he can’t fucking breathe right.

“Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit  _ oh shit ohshit _ -”

Peter pushes past Dr. Banner (he’ll remember to be excited about it later) and runs to the wall on the opposite end of the room, slamming the door against wall so hard it bounces back and closes behind him.

He slams the light blue button next to the door (there’s one next to the toilet, too, but that’s farther away) and there’s a blue pulse of light. Jarvis’ voice echoes around the room, low and soothing.  _ “Do you require any assistance?” _

Peter shakes his head. “No, just. Stand by. Just in case. Please.”

_ “As you wish.” _ Jarvis’ voice is warm as the thrum of his voice fades into background noise.

He locks the door and strips, first his shirt then his binder, groaning loudly in relief once the restrictive material is off.

_ Jesus Christ. _

Peter can hear his breathing, still, even with the binder off.

It’s too loud, stark and obnoxious in this soundproof room, but the thought had only just entered his head when music fills the room, along with a pulse of blue light emanating from the lights above the mirror.

Classical music, something he wouldn’t be able to recognize even if he knew anything about the genre; loud enough to distract him, not loud enough to overwhelm him.

“Thanks,” Peter whispers, overwhelmed anyway by Jarvis’ kindness.

_ “Of course, Mr. Parker.” _

He smiles, thin. It always gives him a little thrill to hear Jarvis call him that. 

_ Mister Parker. _

Jarvis has never messed up Peter’s pronouns, for sure.

He still can’t quite breathe right, so he takes off his pant shoes, socks, leaves the underwear on because he can NOT think about that one right now, and stumbles into the sectioned-off shower space in the corner of the room. “Jarvis, shower, please,” he mumbles, bare skin shivering against the tile.

_ “Of course, Mr. Parker,”  _ Jarvis says. _ “Adjusting temperature,” _ he says, and the water turns on. It’s so hot it’s on the edge of scalding, the way Peter likes best (and has never told Jarvis he likes best).

He stands under the spray for what feels llike hours, but is probably only minutes, soaking under burning water until his skin is pink and he feels like he can breathe again.

Peter takes a few deep breaths - in and out and in and out - his chest hurts, but it’s manageable. “Okay - yeah. Jarvis?”

A blue light flashes again from somewhere he can’t see and Jarvis is here, he knows.

_ “Yes, Mr. Parker?” _

“Um. Shower off, please.”

The shower turns off. _ “There is a towel to your right, Mr. Parker.” _

“Thanks.” He steps out of the shower and grabs the towel.

Peter unfolded it, wiped off his face, neck, arms, chest (ew), stomach - 

Ah, shit.

He never took his fucking underwear off.

It kind of hits him, then - the underwear is sopping wet, dripping onto the floor like nobody’s business, and he wants nothing more than to cry, his eyes burning and his mouth trembling.

_ “If I may, Mr. Parker?” _

Peter hiccups, his throat feeling clogged. “Yeah?”

_ “You will find a change of clothes directly in front of you. Sir has taken the liberty of placing extra clothes of all sizes in each of the lab bathrooms, just in case.” _

A slot opens up across the room from him and drawers pop out - shirts and hoodies and pants and socks and underwear -

Peter claps a hand over his mouth.

“Oh. Oh, wow. Um.”

_ “You are welcome to take whatever you’d like, Mr. Parker.” _

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

A tear rolls down his cheek, catches on his thumb, stains the skin on his wrist.

“Uh. Tell him - tell Dr. Stark I said thank you.”

_ “Of course.” _

There’s a pause. Peter wraps the towel around his chest, smiling faintly when the hem goes down to his knees.

_ “I hope you don’t mind - I informed Doctor Banner of the time-sensitive nature of your experiment and he agreed to keep an eye on it. He says the results appear to support your hypothesis thus far - just as we predicted, Mr. Parker, and to take your time.” _

Peter blows out a harsh breath and resists the urge to scream into his palms.

Fuck time-sensitive experiments and ridiculous geniuses and body dysmorphia.

Fuck all of it.

God, how did he even get himself into this situation?

_ You were too fucking nice to Captain America,  _ a voice inside his head very helpfully reminds him, and he scowls. 

He knew that, thank you very much.

Anyway -

He shucks the underwear under the towel, dries his thighs, pulls on a new pair.

(Of underwear, not thighs. That’d be kind of cool, though.)

T-shirt (medium), hoodie (extra large), jeans (8), socks (10). Ratty Converse knock-offs (the size marker’s worn off, but he thinks maybe they were a size 10 too).

He’s ready.

He looks down.

He is not ready.

His clothes are strewn across the floor, his hair is kind of dripping, and he really needs to pee.

Ugh. He was getting ready to psych himself up, too.

“Jarvis?”

The blue light pings again.

“Where should I put my clothes?”

_ “You may leave them in the corner of the room. They will be washed and returned to you.”  _

“Oh. Okay.” He shoves all of his clothes into the corner of the room, towels off his hair (he’s too tired to think about frizz right now), picks up his binder. “What about -”

_ “That will be line-dried.” _

“Well, yeah, okay, thanks actually, but. This is the only -”

All of the drawers slide back in, the wall tile making it seem like they were never there to begin with.

“Um -”

One of the drawers reappears, only this time it’s filled with tanks and crop tops -

Oh. 

Those - those aren’t - 

Oh.

“Jarvis -”

_ “Yes?” _

“Jarvis, I can’t take this - Jarvis, I can’t -”

_ “Sir insists that you may take however many you’d like, Mr. Parker.” _

“But - these are expensive! These are -” he creeps closer, bends down, looks at the tags.

_ GC2b. _

Jesus Christ - he really went all out, didn’t he, the asshole.

(Dr. Stark’s not an asshole. Peter is just very emotional right now, okay?)

“These are literally forty dollars each, Jarvis, I can’t just  _ take  _ them.”

_ “Thirty-three, generally, and the expense was - a drop in the bucket, as Mr. Stark might say. I imagine he would be disappointed if you did not take at least one, in fact.” _

Peter pouts, his tears dried up. “This is emotional manipulation,” he says, crossing his arms.

_ “Only if it’s working,” _ Jarvis says, and Peter chokes out a laugh.

“Alright, alright, fine. Just - just one, okay?”

“For now, yes. Just one.”

He grabs a white one, a half tank, a medium, and then has a thought and looks through the rest of them.

They’re all mediums.

Peter snorts. “Why are there only mediums in here?”

_ “That is your size.” _

“Huh. Okay, sure.”

He folds up the binder and stuffs it into the pocket of the hoodie (it’s his hoodie now  this thing is ridiculously comfortable, he is never letting it go) - as much as he wants to, he knows better than to put on a binder after having worn one for 18 hours.

Eighteen hours. Oh, man.

He pees.

“Hey, Jarvis?”

_ “Yes?” _

“Can we set up, like, a system? Where I tell you when I had put on my binder that morning, and you let me know when we hit, like, the 12-hour mark, maybe?”

_ “I will remind you every two hours starting from the eight-hour mark.” _

“Yeah, yeah that works. Thanks.”

He walks out.

**Author's Note:**

> so - not to be that bitch, but sudan? their people are in a shit ton of trouble. 
> 
> i went to a rally yesterday and it was astounding how many people didn't know what was going on.
> 
>  
> 
> [look it up. do research. find out what YOU can do.](https://www.google.com/search?q=sudan+massacre&rlz=1CAHDPY_enUS829&oq=sudan+massa&aqs=chrome.0.0j69i57j0l4.2489j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8)
> 
>  
> 
> <3


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